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RKB:
In terms of your daily life, what’s your typical day or
week like? Do you write every day?
MT: I do write
every day but not in the way you think. I’m living off writing
right now and the way I’m doing that is by hustling a bunch
of little articles. I write a ton of horoscopes, every week for
the Guardian,
and also for On Our Backs and Girlfriends
and for another little magazine called SG Girl, which is a surfer
girl magazine. The thing about our horoscopes,
me and Jessica Lanyadoo, they actually are real horoscopes.
It’s
a lot of work and I do a monthly column for the Guardian and I
do a monthly column for a new San Francisco website called Beyond
Chron. So that’s really weird to find that I finally
am living off my writing, which is what you always think you’ll
never be able to do, it’s your biggest dream and then you
find out that it’s actually harder for you to work on your
book than it was when you had some shitty job that you didn’t
care about.
RKB:
Since this is for Afterellen.com, which is a website about lesbians
and bisexual women in pop culture, and I wanted to ask you about
your memoirs. They sortof catapulted you into this fame and brought
I think a sort of lesbian perspective to audiences that might
never have read something like yours. Alternative audiences, but
straighter, that might not be reading all the up and coming lesbian
literature. Does that make you feel like you’re a spokesperson
or do you ever feel like that’s put on you, by straight
audiences saying “this is what every lesbian’s life
is like?”
MT:
I just hope that people are smart enough to realize if they’re
reading a person’s perspective they’re not getting
anything else but that one person’s perspectives.
I feel like if anyone thinks that they’re reading
the archetypal lesbian experience that every lesbian experience
in America is having, then they’re kindof dumb, and
I don’t really concern myself with trying to fix that
problem, because that’s probably a problem they’re
having in their entire life, do you know I mean?
RKB:
You can’t placate everyone.
MT:
Absolutely not. I’m really comfortable with the idea
that things I write are going to piss people off, there’s
no way around that. I’m telling a story, if people
want to read a story, then they can read my books. If people
are looking for guidance or a role model, they should go
look somewhere else.
RKB:
In terms of writing memoir/autobiography, are there ever
legal issues or issues of identity that aren’t yours
that you have to consider? |
 |
MT: I change
names. When I was reading stuff on an open mic before I was ever
published or had any connections to a publishing industry because
I didn’t want it to feel like even within my tiny little
world in San Francisco that I was getting up on stage and almost
name dropping who I had hung out with or who I had gone home with.
I never wanted to write anything that could be alienating. I wanted
to tell the story and the story was best told if the characters
were anonymous.
RKB:
Do you change other things?
MT: I try
to change a little bit of things to give people a little bit of
anonymity, but the reality is that the things that make somebody
compelling to write about are the things that are unique completely
to them. So I could change somebody’s tattoos but their
tattoos are totally captivating and interesting, or I could change
what they do for a living but what they do for a living is so
super weird and indicative of who they are.
RKB:
Does that first person storytelling what comes most naturally?
I’ve read your stuff in other anthologies that weren’t
first person but still had that tone and style.
MT: I just
feel really compelled to write about my own life. In the past
when I’ve sat down to try to write fiction, I’m just
frozen, I’m so blocked I don’t know where to start.
Because basically there’s no limit, you can write anything,
and I get agoraphobic in the face of that, I get paralyzed and
I can’t write so. But I do feel really compelled to talk
about what I see and what I’ve experienced and that material
is write there, so why wouldn’t I turn to it, it’s
the path of least resistance.
RKB:
And in "Without a Net" and "Pills, Thrills,"
those are also mostly in that format.
MT: But my
story in Pills is fiction.
RKB:
I wasn’t sure.
MT: The main
character’s name is Ronnie.
RKB:
I thought maybe you changed it, it was hard to tell.
MT: The house
that I was talking about in that story is a house I lived in,
what’s happening in the house is not anything that ever
happened. I’m starting to understand that that’s what
fiction writers do too, they actually do base a lot of what they’re
writing on on their real life and then take off with it, so that
I’m understanding more.

|
RKB:
"Without a Net," those are deliberately truth
telling and they’re all pretty intense and obviously
true, which I think is your point. Why was that important
to you and why was that something you wanted to put out
there?
MT:
Because I think that the way that working class people are
dealt with in the country is ridiculous. We hardly have
a voice, we’re constantly written about, either studied
in sociological books or politicians use us to get elected
or not get elected and then we get fictionalized. It’s
really rare that you actually hear a working class person
talking firsthand talking about their experience, because
there’s so many assumptions. Just because I’m
a writer, people assume I’ve been to college when
I haven’t been. People constantly assume this class
background about me that I don’t have because I can
speak in full sentences or I have books and it’s frustrating
because I think that people think that poor people are dumb
or unaccomplished or something. I’ve met so many brilliant
working class and poor women writers and I hear their stories
and they’re great and they’re important and
inspiring and I wanted to collect them all and give them
a wider audience. |
RKB:
Do you have anything you’re working on coming up besides
"Rent Girl"?
MT: "Rent
Girl"’s coming up, I have to figure out what my next
project is. I’ve been wanting to write a science fiction
novel.
RKB:
You said that a lot of people assume that you went to college
or assume things about your class background. Are there any other
misconceptions that you feel might be out there that you want
to counteract?
MT:
Probably. I think that what’s hard especially if you’re
writing memoir. I barely resemble the person in Valencia so it’s
really funny when people read Valencia and then they think we’re
gonna go get drunk and have sex in the bathroom.
RKB:
Do you mean because time has passed since then?
MT:
Sure, that was definitely me then, but people change, and I don’t
think people realize how long it takes not only for you to find
the book, the book’s been out for so long, but even the
process of writing the stories and getting them published takes
forever. By the time the book came out, I was a really different
person from who I was at that time, and now at this point I’m
really, really different.
RKB:
Does the process of writing it out and thinking it through so
minutely, does that change you? Does that make you step back from
it and say “this is what I’m like?”
MT: Oddly,
I think it does the opposite. You do have to step back but I feel
like in that stepping back you’re also writing this myth
about yourself, and it can be dangerous because you can believe
the myth that you’re writing about yourself. And you can
think that you’ve really figured out who you are and you
don’t realize that you did figure out who you are at that
moment, but you’re going to change, because people just
keep changing. So in a way it’s the opposite, I felt oddly
trapped by who I thought I was in Valencia, and then when I did
start to change, I became really foreign to myself because I had
this idea of who I was in the world that ended up getting shattered.
RKB:
Does it make it hard to have these books out there then?
MT: No, not
if you make peace with who you’ve been and who you are and
you’re comfortable with the whole process. There was a point
when I did feel really uncomfortable. After Valencia came out
and I started getting a lot of attention, and I had people coming
up to me in bars and interacting with me in this way that they
thought was appropriate because of what they’d read and
it didn’t feel appropriate to me. It felt really uncomfortable
so I felt really weird about the book for a little while, but
I don’t anymore, I really love it now.